by Terry Waite
Enzo looked around. It seemed that they had entered some sort of army compound. A number of military types lounged around an army truck without wheels which was being further dismembered by several men in oily overalls.
‘Follow me,’ ordered the soldier with stripes on his uniform.
The little group reluctantly picked up their haversacks and did as they were bidden. They skirted what seemed to be a parade ground and were ordered to wait outside a long low building. Enzo and the driver were taken inside where, thanks to a slowly revolving ceiling fan, it was slightly cooler.
The soldier with stripes knocked on a door and on receiving the command, ‘Enter,’ opened it and ordered his charges to follow.
A man in a well-tailored military outfit and bearing a distinguished moustache, finely waxed at each pointed end, sat behind a desk on which there was a red telephone and an empty filing tray.
‘Sir,’ said the stripes.
The officer nodded and looked curiously at Enzo. He spoke a few words in what was probably Hindi and then addressed him.
‘Let me see in case.’
Enzo opened his holdall to reveal a couple of dozen paper hats emblazoned with his slogan.
‘What you mean, Golden Oldie?’ the officer queried.
Enzo tried his best but it was very difficult for him to attempt to describe just exactly what was meant by the legend. The officer looked more and more puzzled. Eventually he held up his hand, indicating Enzo should be quiet.
‘Bring others,’ said the officer.
There was a short interval whilst the other unfortunate members of the tour were marched across and one by one entered the room. As the last few were about to enter, there was a loud bang and a clatter - followed by a cry of anguish. Enzo, thinking that one member of his party had been shot, instinctively rushed to the door, only to observe Sir Archie nursing his dented pith helmet and surrounded by the shattered blades of the ceiling fan. The Chinese-hatted Lady Veronika, showing some concern for once in her life, tried to get nearer to him but was prevented by the wired broad brim of her headgear. A distinctly irate-looking soldier pushed Sir Archie into the room, and as he could not get near to Lady Veronika, pushed her also with the butt of his ancient 303 rifle. This caused her to release a stream of invective in Russian which resulted in another soldier prodding her with his rifle also and forcing her to join the others.
The group lined up before the officer, who examined then with a look of considerable curiosity on his face.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked in rather good English. ‘And why are you wearing disguise?’ As he said this he looked intently at the twins. ‘You are terrorist,’ he said. ‘You hide your face.’
‘Oh, did you hear that, Philippa?’ said Petra to her twin sister. ‘He said we are terrorists.’ She looked at the officer through the net and brandished her umbrella at him. ‘Let me tell you, young man,’ she said, ‘we live near the Tukituki River and are not terrorists.’
The officer didn’t reply but switched on his computer. ‘Give me your address,’ he ordered. ‘I will look on Google.’
Philippa gave the number of their house in the Elsthorpe Road.
‘Ah!’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘You have a terrorist camp there - Camp David. Is that where you train? You didn’t know that would be on my computer, did you?’
‘Don’t be so silly,’ said Philippa robustly. ‘That is a holiday camp for young people.’
The officer snorted and once again perused the motley group before him.
‘You have entered secret government property,’ he said. ‘We are now searching your coach and we will search you. This is very big trouble for you. Very big trouble.’
Enzo hitched up his Bombay Bloomers and looked appealingly at Harry, the universal fixer, who had been quiet to this point. Harry was just about to intervene when there was a sharp rap on the door and another officer entered. He babbled something, and the officer behind the desk shot to his feet. As he did so, a very grand-looking military type entered, smothered in gold braid - and who should follow him but none other than the Admiral.
‘Good Heavens, Harry - and you also Bigatoni! Have I accidentally dropped in on a rehearsal for the Indian production of HMS Pinafore?’
Enzo, who was now too emotionally exhausted to say anything further, simply sat heavily on a low chair. Harry took the lead and explained the situation.
‘Amazing,’ said the Admiral, ‘that today of all days I should come to this camp. I arranged with some of my old friends from the Indian Defence Staff to take a quick tour of one or two establishments whilst we had time in Cochin - and who should I find but you!’
Needless to say, apologies were issued all round, tea and digestive biscuits were served and the party rushed back to their coach. Much to Enzo’s relief, the remainder of the day was uneventful. A military escort took them to Alleppey when they travelled even faster than they had done on the first part of the journey. Despite this they were very late indeed for the boat. Immediately they boarded, a meal of rice and Mezhukkupuratti (fried vegetable curry) was served and much fun was had by all in attempting to pronounce words on the menu. The sisters did agree to raise their veils to eat, and immediately dropped them once it was over. Thereafter, a lovely day was enjoyed by all and Enzo and Harry were thanked profusely by a group of tired but happy Golden Oldies.
Following their frightening experience on the roads of Kerala the previous evening, Albert and Alice decided that they would not travel to the backwaters. As Albert said, ‘We have enough canals in England, and Suez was a washout.’
So they gave this unique part of India a miss.
As the ship would be in port throughout the day, they determined that they would take a walk ashore and try to buy one or two souvenirs and a postcard for the Robinson family with whom they had stayed in Southend-on-Sea. The day of the launch seemed a long time ago now, but they had not forgotten the kindness of the Robinsons and wanted to keep in touch.
Fred Batty, after spending hours on the internet, was a mine of information and advised the attendees at his lecture to be careful on shore as the Spice Market was somewhat pricy and tourists would be spotted a mile off. He advised a visit to Jew Town, the part of Cochin where, unsurprisingly, the old synagogue could be found, and which was an interesting place to explore. He also advised that it was a bit far to walk and it would be best to take a taxi or a tuk tuk. Budget-minded as always, despite his vast wealth, Albert decided on the three-wheeled vehicle, the tuk tuk, and somewhat reluctantly Alice went along with his choice. The helpful local guide at the exit from the dock gave them a map and pointed out where they should direct the driver to take them. It all went amazingly smoothly. They were alarmed at one point when out of a small side street there appeared an elephant with a wizened-looking figure riding it. However, they took this in their stride and alighted in a street full of small shops selling coloured scarves, beads, bangles and, believe it or not, postcards.
‘By go,’ said Albert when they returned to the ship for lunch, ‘it were crowded out there.’
Alice sat down immediately and started to write on a postcard with a picture of a decorated elephant walking down the same street along which they had walked that very morning.
‘Saw an elephant today’ she wrote slowly. ‘Very busy here. Lots of Indian food. Love from Alice and Albert’.
Albert read it and asked for the pen. He scribbled on the bottom of the card, ‘A bit like Grimsby!’
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The chaplain was greatly pleased with his clothes. They were delivered to the ship exactly as promised and he tried on the clerical suit immediately. It fitted perfectly, as did the new suit for casual wear. As a little extra, the tailor had kindly included half a dozen silk handkerchiefs and, to the chaplain’s surprise, two lady’s silk scarves. With them was a handwritten note which read:
Rev Sir,
Your esteemed custom is valued and I have pleasure in enclosing the items that you entrusted me wit
h. If Rev Sir you might recommend me to your Brothers, and especially to His Lord the Archbishop of Canterbury, as we are always ready to serve. I have enclosed a small gift for you Sir and for your charming wife who was with you when you did the honour of visiting my emporium.
May you always be blessed Sir.
Ajatashatru Thomas
The chaplain read the note through twice and blushed. Angela, his wife! He would certainly pass the scarves on to her, but would not show her the note as that would be too embarrassing for both of them. Angela, his wife? It was a totally new thought for him and it played through his mind constantly.
Back on the ship and safely ensconced in his Balcony Suite, Sir Archie examined the damaged pith helmet. He was damned annoyed that it had been hit by the low ceiling fan but, as it had not been holed, only dented, it might be possible to have it restored to its former glory. He had travelled the tropical regions of the world with that helmet and to lose it now would have been too much to bear. As one got older, he reflected, one became attached to artefacts that reminded one of earlier days and this helmet was one such object.
Lady Veronika, who had maintained her customary silence during most of the visit to the backwaters, sat at the small dressing-table writing in a leather-covered notebook in an indecipherable script. Her days spent in the Siberian Secret Service (SSS) had enabled her to form lifelong habits, and keeping a secret detailed record of people and places was one of them. She intrigued Sir Archie, as he could not be sure if she was still attached to the SSS or not. Whenever he had tried to raise the subject she had quickly diverted the conversation (such conversation as she was capable of) onto another subject. He had concluded that, although she was most probably not in the full-time employ of the agency, she still maintained a close relationship - but for what purpose he could not fathom. Who supplied her with huge quantities of yak’s milk when she was back in England? It wasn’t the sort of item one might find easily in Waitrose, but it came to her regularly and, as far as he knew, no bills had ever been received. Who was it who ensured that when the ship docked at various ports around the world, yak’s milk was always awaiting to be delivered to the ship? Her husband accepted the fact that there would always be an element of mystery about their relationship - and that was what made it interesting.
Lady Veronika finished her scribbling, closed the book and secured it with a small lock. Why this latter measure was required Sir Archie could never understand as the script was about as readable as Proto-Elamite, a language yet to be deciphered. Perhaps it was Proto-Elamite, he mused, and laughed to himself.
Lady Veronika secured the locked book in a briefcase and in turn placed the briefcase in a drawer which she locked. Then she addressed him.
‘Dorogoy,’ she said. (In private she always addressed him as ‘Darling’ in Russian.) ‘Dorogoy, Captain ask we eat lunch with him. Today. Good?’
‘Very good, my dear,’ replied Sir Archie.’ ‘Where shall we eat?’
‘Captain say small table on deck. Good?’
‘Excellent. Quite excellent,’ replied her husband. ‘What time?’
‘Now,’ she answered. ‘This minute. We go now.’
Sir Archie, somewhat taken by surprise, found his old rowing cap in a drawer and the couple set off for the deck table.
Captain Sparda was seated when they arrived; he stood up and greeted them warmly, but with some deference due to their titled position.
‘Ah, Sir Archibald and Lady Veronika. How good to see you both. Please take a seat.’
Lady Veronika sat down and scowled. The scowl meant nothing in particular. It was purely habitual but it had the effect of putting people off and thinking that they had made some terrible faux pas. It was quite a useful device for Lady Veronika as it made the person with whom she was talking feel uncomfortable and thus gave her an advantage. She had used the scowl to great effect when, posing as a Siberian Orthodox Bishop, she had been able to uncover a major tax-evasion scheme operating in the wastes of her country. Her deep contralto voice and authentic false beard, aided by the scowl, so intimidated the junior clerics that they confessed all. Sir Archie was not aware of this, nor of many other exotic adventures his wife had experienced, but he was familiar with the scowl, especially when it was directed at him and did mean something!
The scowl caught Sparda full on and engendered the usual response.
‘Is everything well with you both?’ He enquired anxiously. ‘I trust you are enjoying the luxury of your Balcony Suite. Later in the cruise I shall be pleased to invite you to dine at my table in the evening,’ he said, hoping for a thaw in what he felt was an icy atmosphere.
Lady Veronika remained mute but Sir Archie, always one to promote a warmer climate, chipped in, ‘Jolly decent of you, Captain. Lovely old ship this. Quite lovely.’
Sparda, feeling a little warmer, turned to the lunch drinks and the menu.
‘What will you both have?’ he asked genially. ‘I enjoy a cider at lunchtime but please choose what you like.’
Sir Archie selected a small Light Ale. Lady Veronika continued to scowl before speaking.
‘A glass of yak’s milk with a large vodka on side,’ she said to a startled waiter, who had not served her previously.
‘Lady Veronika has her own supply,’ said the Captain. ‘See Mr Tucker - he knows.’
The waiter scurried away and they resumed perusing the menu. By the side of the deck was an iron griddle on which a chef was grilling chops, steaks and sweetcorn. Savoury smoke drifted across the table.
‘I shall have griddle,’ said Lady Veronika, direct as ever. ‘Big steak underdone. Two sausage. One chop. Corn. That is good, eh, Captain?’
Sparda agreed that it was quite excellent and put in the order with a piece of grilled fish for himself and a mutton chop with a baked potato and salad for Sir Archie.
‘Now,’ said Sparda, as two large plates were put before Lady Veronika. ‘This lunch is just the beginning for you.’
For once Lady Veronika managed a half-smile. She was a hearty eater and one of those irritating individuals who eat more than enough and never seem to put on weight.
‘We enjoy good lunch,’ she said as she tackled the steak. ‘In Siberia we eat good.’
‘Plenty of frozen foods, I imagine,’ said Sparda, in an attempt to introduce some humour into the occasion.
Sir Archie laughed loudly but Lady Veronika resumed her customary expression.
‘Well,’ said the Captain, getting to the point, ‘I am told by Mr Bigatoni, our Cruise Director, that you have won a very special prize. Many congratulations, I must say.’
Sir Archie beamed. ‘It was my very clever wife,’ he said. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
‘Well, you will both benefit to the tune of five hundred pounds,’ said Sparda.
The observant would have noticed a slight expression of pain cross the Captain’s features as he mentioned the money, but it went unnoticed by his guests. It quickly passed and he continued.
‘The ship will provide you with an exclusive excursion at any port at which we call. Everything will be provided to the tune of five hundred pounds.’
‘I say,’ said Sir Archie enthusiastically, ‘that sounds jolly good. My dear?’
Lady Veronika, busy gnawing at a chop bone, said nothing.
‘Splendid offer, Captain,’ he said. ‘I fancy a good rugby match in New Zealand.’
Sparda was just about to applaud this when he became aware that the scowl had deepened. He held back as Lady Veronika replaced the bone on her plate.
‘Nyet!’ she exclaimed. ‘We have TV. We see plenty sport. I want visit in Sri Lanka to see Tigers.’
Sir Archie looked considerably surprised. ‘Tigers,’ he repeated. ‘Tigers? Are there tigers in Sri Lanka? News to me, my dear. What about you, Captain? Have you seen tigers in Sri Lanka?’
Sparda, who for the past thirty years had hardly left the Straits of Messina where he certainly did not encounter tigers, said he had not. Lady Vero
nika gave a look that would have frozen solid the cider in the Captain’s glass had she directed her gaze in that direction.
‘Tamil Tigers,’ she exclaimed. ‘Very interesting.’
Neither Sparda, nor Sir Archie could possibly imagine why on earth Lady Veronika should want to visit such a group - and they were never to find out the real reason. The truth was that some years back, when Lady Veronika was active in the SSS, a group of Tamil Tigers had been sent to Siberia for tactical training. The fact that Sri Lanka was normally sweltering and in Siberia the temperature in the winter was always below freezing did not help matters, nor was it a help that the Tigers were sent over in the winter. Many suffered from frostbite, and learning how to fight guerrilla warfare in snow and ice was not a great asset to them. They only accepted because all expenses were found. Lady Veronika was in charge of a part of this highly secret operation and the visit to Sri Lanka, especially now that there was a peace agreement of sorts in the country, seemed a good time to renew old friendships.
‘Well dear, if that is what you want,’ said Sir Archie equably. ‘I am sure you can arrange something, Captain.’
‘I’ll get my man Harry onto it,’ Sparda replied. ‘He knows his way around.’
Lady Veronika ordered a double portion of ice cream with whipped cream, and the others asked for an espresso. Then lunch was over.
‘Delightful,’ said Sir Archie. ‘Quite delightful, Captain.’
Lady Veronika managed a nod of agreement and they parted - the Captain to visit Harry, and the Willoughby’s to retire to their Balcony Suite to enjoy a restful afternoon.
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